


When Angels Cry

by Tony



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Biting, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Nazi Kink, Nazis, Urine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-05 20:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/727381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tony/pseuds/Tony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames could still remember where he was on that day in June of 1940 when the armistice was signed in Compiegne. He could still remember the grim faces of all the Frenchmen in the bar, their slumped shoulders and defeated frowns. It was as if Hitler himself had walked into the joint and told them all to say their last good-bye’s before he ordered the Gestapo to fill them all full of bullets. </p><p>     He should have gotten out of France while he’d had the chance.</p><p>As of June 2015, this fic is officially discontinued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The only excuse I had for this was that there isn't enough violent A/E on the internet. Also my friend is writing a WW2 AU for A/E and I thought shit, I've never written Nazi!Kink before, maybe I need to give that a try. 
> 
> PLEASE READ THE TAGS. THEY ARE THERE FOR A REASON. This is a very violent fic, and there is non-con (rape!) involved between Nazi!Eames and Jew!Arthur.

Eames could still remember where he was on that day in June of 1940 when the armistice was signed in Compiegne. He could still remember the grim faces of all the Frenchmen in the bar, their slumped shoulders and defeated frowns. It was as if Hitler himself had walked into the joint and told them all to say their last good-bye’s before he ordered the Gestapo to fill them all full of bullets.

He should have gotten out of France while he’d had the chance.

+

Personally, Eames had nothing against Jews. They’d never harmed him, never stolen money from him, never even looked at him the wrong way-- nothing to provoke him into wanting to hurt them. But he was part of the SS now, had been roped in by threat of death. It was either join up and fight the good fight or go to the camps where homosexuals lasted no time at all before being beaten to death by the other prisoners. The pink triangle had not even been an option for Eames. He had a wife and kid back in London he wanted to see again, and this war wouldn’t last forever. Better to do as he was told and get through this madness with all his limbs intact than to die without ever holding his son in his arms again.

So how could he explain what he was doing now? If someone asked, what would he tell them? Here he was, in the back alley behind some bakery, fucking Arthur Goldberg against a cold damp wall. Fucking a Jew. Using the poor young man as something less than even a prostitute while Arthur sobbed and begged for Eames to stop.

Eames couldn’t stop. He’d seen Arthur a week earlier, Arthur with his beautiful dimples that made Eames’ chest tight, Arthur with his dark hair and eyes, Arthur with the long calloused fingers and small girlish waist. Eames had wanted him badly.

Being in the SS had taught Eames that if you want something, you take it. It had changed him at his very core, and it would have made him sick to think about had it been years ago, but now he was working for the Gestapo, now he was working for Hitler, and corruption had taken hold. Now, Eames wanted something and he took it. He’d wanted Arthur, and now he was taking him.

“Stop, stop, please, why are you- you doing this?” Arthur sobbed, spine curved uncomfortably and bloodied cheek scraping against the uneven brick. His calf muscles were strained with the effort to stand on his toes, make the angle at which Eames’ cock drove into him less painful. It was a valiant effort, but wholly futile.

There was so much rage pumping through Eames’ veins—rage at the Nazi’s for occupying France, the home he’d found after parting from his wife. Rage at himself for being a homosexual and getting himself into this mess in the first place. Rage at Arthur for being so fucking beautiful. And rage at the SS for doing this to him, for making him into this disgusting monster. But that was his fault too, wasn’t it? No one else’s, not even Hitler’s. Only Eames himself could be responsible for what he’d turned into.

One hand left Arthur’s hips to yank painfully at the soft brown hair that smelled like ink and parchment, while the other stayed, fingers digging deeper into the bruises marring milky white skin. Eames buried his nose in Arthur’s hair, breathing deeply as he rammed his uncut prick as deep as possible into the young man under him. There hadn’t been the time or the resources to prepare Arthur properly, so they’d had to settle with a handful of spit, much to Arthur’s horror and Eames’ frustration. Arthur had yelped and choked on his cries, clawing at the brick wall he was shoved into as Eames set a brutal pace much too early.

“Mr. Eames, **_please_**!” Arthur keened as the SS officer yanked his head back, exposing that long, pale neck. “God, why me, why me,” he continued to sob, face red and cheek bruised, dimples nowhere in sight. Arthur was loose, trembling with his entire body, completely limp cock hanging between his thighs pathetically. And yet, even in this miserable state, Eames found the youth beautiful beyond compare.

He couldn’t resist. He yanked Arthur’s head back further and slotted their mouths together, effectively muffling the sobs while his tongue wriggled its way past Arthur’s lips like an eel. Eames’ thrusts became long and languid as he fucked Arthur’s mouth with his tongue, a hot moan escaping his throat as he mapped out the hot wet cavern for memory. A sharp pain ripped through his mouth like the crack of a whip and he pulled his tongue out, tasting the familiar tang of copper. His eyes shot to Arthur’s lips, stained bloody red and twisted into a grimace that was almost a smile.

“ _You fucking-!!_ ” Eames began and growled dangerously, his mouth going numb as the fresh gash in his tongue blossomed with pain on each word. Arthur wasn’t crying anymore, just looking at him with a dull sort of smug satisfaction and Eames wanted to hate him, he really did, but instead he smiled, wiped the blood from his mouth and slammed Arthur’s head back against the wall. “Cheeky fucking prick. Done crying for me then? Was fun while it lasted, I suppose.”

No more crying, no more whimpering sobs, only labored breath from Arthur as Eames plowed viciously into him. The alleyway was dark, it was past time for the locals to be indoors, and Eames had planned on taking his sweet time fucking Arthur, but now he was too pissed. This was to be a one-time thing, because what Eames was doing could not only get him outted publicly as a homosexual, but it could get him killed by his peers. But now, he thought maybe coming back a few more times to drive the point home wouldn’t be such a terrible idea. Arthur clearly needed to be shown what his place was.

Eames pressed his forehead to Arthur’s back, both hands firmly digging into slim hips as he rolled one last time up into that hot, tight heat. It had been months since he’d been able to do this, since he’d been balls deep in another man, cock twitching as he filled an asshole full of his cum. Months and months, too long, he’d missed it, and now he was marking his territory, claiming what he’d wanted as officially his. He’d be coming back for this again and again, he had to.

Arthur’s breath was shallow, his shoulders trembling as Eames pulled out, semen tainted red following the tip of his prick and dribbling down Arthur’s thighs in rivulets. Eames should have felt guilty. The Eames of a year ago **did** feel guilty. The Eames here and now though only felt cold, hollow satisfaction. He watched as Arthur slid to his knees, dry heaving.

Every cake needed icing, and Eames felt a sickening need to push Arthur that one last step overboard.

He took his cock in hand and leaned back against the brick wall inches behind him. Arthur was still on his knees, stretched entrance dripping with cum, and Eames thought he was still just too beautiful. He needed to muddy Arthur up.

Arthur gasped and shrank away as a hot stream of piss hit him square in the back. Tears stung his eyes once again as he glared daggers over his shoulder. Eames smiled lazily in return as he pissed all over his new property, satisfied with how dirty he’d made his toy. When he was finished, he tucked himself away and buttoned up his trousers.

“Be here tomorrow. Don’t make me come get  you.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur needs a favor and Eames is more than willing to help out. For a price, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PEOPLE LIKED THIS ENOUGH TO WANT MORE? ? ?  
> this chapter is dubcon, not noncon, and no beating poor arthur. a little character development for shiggles as well. no pee in this chapter!! :)
> 
> this chapter is third person omniscient by the way.

There weren’t many things that Eames enjoyed more than the sound of his polished leather boots creaking as he propped them on top of his desk. He wriggled his toes in his boots, a little smile on his lips as Arthur glowered at him from the other side of the desk. “Arthur, please, don’t look at me like that. You realize I’m only one man, don’t you? I have very little influence on anyone. It’s not my fault your father is sick and it’s certainly not my fault that food and medicine is rationed! You’ll have to point that sour look in someone else’s direction because it’s not going to get you anywhere in _my_ office, pet.”

Slamming his hands down on the table in frustration, Arthur gave Eames a look that pleaded from the very depths of his soul. “Eames, I know you can do something. You may not be the Fuhrer but you’re an SS and you _can_ do something. You have **_some_** influence! If you wanted some medicine, you could get some, I know they don’t ration it for their soldiers as strictly as they do for the public, especially when the soldiers aren’t Jewish! Eames, my father is the only person I have left. My brothers are gone, Hell knows where, and Mother is dead. I need my father. He can’t get better without medicine and _you_ can get it for him. Please… You know I’ll do anything.”

Eames laced his fingers together in his lap and smiled at Arthur. “Yes, I know you’ll do anything. That’s the beauty of our relationship, isn’t it?” he taunted, enjoying the way the other man visibly recoiled. “You love your father, that’s obvious. But how much do you love him? What exactly is ‘ _anything’_ to you? Why don’t you show me. Show me what it is you’d do to save dear old dad, Arthur. You scratch my back and I scratch yours, right?” Eames finished, hands spread wide in welcome as he removed his feet from the table and spread his knees wide. He rolled his chair back about a foot and waited, excited to see just what Arthur would do to get the medicine his poor father needed.

Arthur was silent a moment, jaw set and fingers clenched at his sides. He hated this. He hated being at the mercy of this fucking asshole, this- this Nazi fucking scum, this man with the beautiful face and the black heart.

Licking his lips, Arthur let out a slow breath and stepped out from in front of the desk. He stared at the wall over Eames’ shoulder as he came to stand between Eames’ legs, fingers working at the knot at his neck. The tie came off first, dropped carelessly on the desk beside him, and then the buttons next, undone one by one, revealing pale skin and a hairless chest.

 _This isn’t rape, this is me willingly coming to him for help. This isn’t rape. Just do what you have to do and get it over with._ Arthur’s breath came shallow as he fought to keep his temper at a low simmer and his pride from making him to do something he’ll regret. His shirt slid from his back and off his arms, and then he began to work at his belt.

“I admit that no one makes a scowl look sexier than you do, but if the point is to get me aroused, you’re going to have to turn that frown upside down, love. I enjoy the fight in you but I’m not going to get hard with you glaring at me like that.”

Arthur clenched his eyes shut and kept his hands firmly at his belt, pointedly did not ball them up and pummel Eames’ face with them. But oh how he wanted to in that moment. Instead, he counted to 10 and opened his eyes, smiling down at the SS currently making his life Hell. It was so easy to convince himself that this could be worse, because honestly, it could. Eames could be ugly. Eames could actually beat him regularly instead of just when he misbehaved. Eames could just rape him and give nothing in return, no medicine, no rationed food, nothing, just a one-sided relationship that left Arthur emotionally crippled and empty handed.

Not to mention he could be sent to the camps.

For all Eames’ talk, all of Eames’ threats and talk of how he has no influence, Eames has successfully kept the SS and the Gestapo away from Arthur and his father’s shop, out of their hair, and in turn, kept Arthur and his father out of the dreaded camps. Arthur’s dad wouldn’t last a week in the camps, and he knew how homosexuals were treated there, had heard rumors, had been told repeatedly by Eames. He’d probably not last more than a couple of weeks himself. It hurt Arthur’s pride to even think it, but he was almost grateful for Eames and all the man had done for him. If only all of it hadn’t come at such a steep price.

Arthur was pitifully soft as his underwear was pushed to the floor to join the rest of his discarded clothes. Soft, unlike Eames, who had begun to stroke himself through his black trousers. He stepped forward, knees to Eames’ thighs, and put a hand to his own prick, stroking it languidly.

Eames licked his lips, cheeks beginning to flush.

This was something else that made this entire relationship palatable. Eames would tout endlessly about how cock-hungry Arthur was, how Arthur wanted it so bad, how pathetic it was to see how needy for Eames’ cock Arthur was. But in the end, it was Eames who needed it the most. It was Eames who was hungry for Arthur, Eames who wanted Arthur’s beautiful, cut prick in his mouth. It made Arthur’s miserable life so much sweeter knowing that all of Eames’ talk was just a reflection of his own sick needs.

Arthur didn’t say a word as Eames leaned forward and took his dick in that plush pink mouth, burying his nose in coarse black fur and moaning with pleasure. Eames loved giving Arthur blowjobs. Eames would fuck Arthur, beat Arthur, talk to Arthur as if he were the scum of the Earth, but in the end, Eames was gay as well, and Eames loved a nice cock in his mouth. Arthur was completely wordless as Eames sucked, licked, while stroking himself at the same time. It always took Arthur an obscene amount of time to get to full hardness what with the situation and all. Eames didn’t mind. It wasn’t Arthur’s pleasure that mattered.

When Eames finally pulled away, he looked up at Arthur with a powerful lust and a wicked curl of his lips. “I want you to fuck yourself on my cock,” he ordered, reaching past Arthur’s hip to pull open a desk drawer and retrieve a bottle of oil. A lot of times, he didn’t even bother with that much. The oil was a consideration for Arthur, granted for good behavior.

Taking the oil in hand, Arthur twisted the cap off and dipped two fingers in as Eames unbuckled and opened his trousers to pull his uncut erection out into the open. Arthur spread the oil liberally on Eames’ dick, made sure it was plenty lubricated because Eames wouldn’t wait around long enough for Arthur to finger himself, was much too impatient for that.

As Arthur turned around, reached behind him to grab Eames’ dick and position it at his entrance, Eames grabbed his arm and growled, “No, I want you to look at me.”

Arthur had to bite his lip to hold back the retort, could feel a headache coming on from all his pent up frustration and annoyance. But he did as he was told, crawling into Eames’ lap and ignoring the uncomfortable position his knees were forced into. The thick black fabric of the SS uniform irritated his skin, and the leather of Eames’ gloves dug uncomfortably into his sides as Arthur lowered himself onto Eames’ prick. The good thing about no preparation was that it hurt so bad that Arthur’s ass quickly numbed to the pain and he could get through it easier without the trouble of enjoying it. If he was unlucky enough to get hard, he had to deal with not only the shame of Eames seeing his pleasure, but the frustration of being denied an orgasm.

Fully seated and panting, Arthur draped his arms around Eames’ shoulders out of a need to be as comfortable as possible as he began to rock up and down, Eames’ fingers digging into his ass and spreading his cheeks, stretching him wider and making him whimper. There wasn’t enough room for his legs on the chair, and he could already feel a Charlie horse forming in his left thigh, but to ask for help in any way would garner nothing but ridicule. He had to make do.

Eames’ gloved fingers prodded his ass, his waist, his ribs, and his mouth sucked hard at Arthur’s jawline, his neck, his collar. Eames licked and slurped at Arthur’s adam’s apple, and Arthur did NOT moan, did _not_ give Eames that satisfaction. But his cock _did_ give a mighty twitch, and he ground his teeth painfully as he rolled his hips, working Eames’ dick just the way he knew the officer preferred.

“Fuck kitten,” Eames purred, toes curling once more in his boots as he thrust up into Arthur’s unbelievably hot body, “Look at you, look how much you love it, you’re such a slut.”

Arthur closed his eyes, refused to look at Eames, bit his lip to keep his whimpers to himself. There were fingers at his entrance, teasing, and his entire body shuddered pathetically. His nose was buried in Eames’ hair, the smell of pomade almost sweet enough to make Arthur sick to his stomach, and he sped up, hearing and recognizing the pattern in Eames’ breathing that signaled an impending climax.

Eames buried his face in Arthur’s collar as he panted, greatly enjoying the feel of Arthur’s chin at his temple, Arthur’s lean arms surrounding his neck, Arthur’s beautiful legs encasing his thighs. “Could fuck you forever, my _God_ ,” he growled, and Arthur gasped above him in response, and that was it. His hips stuttered as he came, Arthur still moving slowly but steadily in his lap, milking him, drawing out every last drop of cum expertly, and if Eames had the ability to love someone, he would have thought right then and there that he loved Arthur.

The clean-up was silent and Arthur hated himself for not being fully soft on the dismount. He stepped away, grabbed his clothes, and began to slowly dress, not even bothering to wipe himself off. Semen was dribbling down his leg as he leaned awkwardly against the desk, breathing hard and struggling to put his tie back on with trembling fingers. Eames was glowing happily and it made Arthur hate him all the more.

“Mm. I suppose that warranted a favor or two. That was lovely Darling, really. Now how about you scamper off back home and I’ll make a few arrangements, alright?” Eames purred, smoothing the front of his jacket and following Arthur to the door. “And stop looking at me like that. For fuck’s sake you’ve got quite the deal here. Now get out of my office, Goldberg. And say hi to daddy for me, will you?”

Arthur shot one last glare at Eames as he was shoved rudely out of the office, and left to finally go home and get out of this den of wolves. A few knowing looks were shot his way but he kept his gaze down and didn’t speak as he showed his badge and left.

When the evening rolled around and the weekly delivery of rations was doled out, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the extra bottles of milk and the medicine his father required. Luckily his father never asked where the extra rations came from. Arthur didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself knowing his father knew he was a whore.

 


End file.
